


Tender

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Julian keeps complaining about how overbearing his friends are.That doesn't stop Logan.





	Tender

Logan knows Julian’s starting to get annoyed with what he describes as  _ smothering _ . He’s started to actively push his friends out of his room, when they come to monitor his daily coffee intake or ask how many hours of sleep he’s gotten. 

_ “I already have parents,” he’s argued more than once, “You two are being ridiculous. I’m  _ fine _ ” _

But the thing is that he’s  _ not _ fine. Not in the slightest. He’s doing better, of course, but he’s nowhere near  _ fine _ . He still hasn’t regained all the lost weight, still hasn’t managed to sleep through the night without a nightmare. He’s jumpy, he recoils when touched, and Logan can count on one hand the number of smiles he’s seen since Julian came back to Dalton.

Julian’s  _ not _ fine, no matter how much he pretends to be.

So Logan doesn’t let up on the  _ smothering _ . He switches Julian’s coffee to decaf in the afternoons. He pushes plates full of food across the table at mealtimes. He waits, patiently, as Julian sweats through physical therapy workouts. 

He knows Julian’s had a particularly trying day. For the first time, his physical therapy and regular therapy sessions fell on the same day. The chicken salad he’d had at lunch made his stomach ache, and he’d gotten a migraine trying to finish a paper for Murdoch’s class. 

Julian loves the smoothies from the Dalton cafe, and the woman working the counter throws in a cookie along with the  _ Bodacious Berry _ smoothie Logan orders. 

A year ago, he would’ve barged into Julian’s room without knocking. But he’s been a little more hesitant, lately, and knocks lightly on the door. When he doesn’t get a response, he knocks a little harder. The quiet worries him, a little, and he gently pushes Julian’s door open.

“Jules?”

Still no reply. But the door of the ensuite bathroom is slightly open, and there’s a soft echo of music from within.

“Julian?” He calls again, not wanting to startle his friend by barging in. He steps into the bathroom.

The soft music is coming from Julian’s --  _ Logan’s _ , Logan realizes with a second glance -- iPod, propped up on the bathroom sink. Julian’s humming along lightly from the bath, his body covered in a thick layer of sweet-scented bubbles.

“Come to check that I ate a vegetable today?” Julian drawls, his head not moving from its relaxed tilt onto a soft cushion. There are gold-colored eye masks resting beneath his closed eyes, and an open jar of epsom salts rests precariously on the ledge of the tub. 

“I did all my therapy,” Julian continues, “I  _ journaled _ . Finished my homework. I haven’t had coffee since lunch. I thought I deserved to relax for a little while.”

“You do. I just...I was at the smoothie place, and I thought maybe you might like one.”

One sepia eye cracks open, “You hate that smoothie place. Why would you go?”

“Maybe I was just walking past it.”

“It’s nowhere near Stuart.”

“I thought you might want a smoothie,” Logan says, a little frustrated, “I had to say  _ bodacious berry _ out loud, because she wouldn’t let me just point. So do you want it or not?”

“I want it.”

One of Julian’s hands lifts from the water, the bubbles clinging to his dripping skin. Their fingers brush as he takes the smoothie, and his hand feels warm. Logan pulls away, leans backward until he’s resting against the bathroom sink. He watches as Julian sips at the smoothie, lips pursing around the straw. His stomach twists uncomfortably. He thinks maybe he’s starting to understand why the other boys complain about Julian’s lollipops.

Logan clears his throat, tries desperately to banish the thoughts from his head.

“The epsom salts,” he says instead, nodding at the container, “Are you feeling okay? Derek uses them after games, sometimes.”

Julian hums, his head lolling to the side to look over at Logan, “Physical therapy is a bitch, sometimes. Did you know they said it could be a  _ year _ before I’m fully healed?”

“You did get hurt pretty badly,” Logan says, hating the way his mind plays back Julian’s fall, that  _ thud _ , the awful sight of him in the hospital…

“This helps more,” Julian says, gesturing at the bubbles with the smoothie cup, “It’s like they torture me in therapy, but then I get to just...chill. My mom sent me all these different scented bath oils. This one’s sugar cookie.”

“No wonder it smells like a bakery.”

“You sure you’re not smelling that cookie  _ you’re _ hoarding over there?”

Logan looks down at the paper packet in his hand, a little sheepish, “This was for you, too.”

“I’m sure it was,” Julian smirks a little, “Can you not stand there like that?”

“Like what?”

“It’s just  _ weird _ , how stiff you are. This is a  _ relax _ place.”

“Oh, sorry. I can go.”

“You don’t have to leave. Just stop looking so weird.”

Logan glances around for a moment, a little awkwardly. There really isn’t anywhere to  _ sit _ in this bathroom, not unless he wants to sit on the closed toilet, and that would put him across the bathroom at an odd distance from Julian. He could hop up on the counter, but the bubbles on the surface are starting to dissipate, and he doesn’t want to be caught staring. 

He finally settles on the floor beside the bathtub, folding the soft bath mat in half to provide a little bit more cushion. Julian watches him with half-lidded eyes, tilts the smoothie towards him once Logan finally stills.

Logan takes the offer and sips at the drink.

“...that is good,” he says, with a small amount of surprise, “I see why you like them.”

“My nutritionist likes to try to convince me that smoothies are  _ dessert _ ,” Julian says, “She’s endlessly frustrated by my sweet tooth.”

“I think you can afford a little extra sugar right now.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m almost there, you know,” Julian says, his voice a little softer, “To where I was before. My clothes fit again.”

“That’s great, Jules.”

“And I think I figured out that the scar isn’t as noticeable if I don’t go in the sun as much. If I tan it makes it worse.”

“You like the sun, though. You shouldn’t worry about what it looks like.”

“You hate seeing it.”

Julian’s eyes are both open, now, bright and alert. Logan takes a breath.

“I don’t hate how it looks,” he says, slowly, “Derek was right, when he said it makes you look badass. I just…”

“Hate what it reminds you of.”

Logan nods, not fully trusting himself to speak.

“Is that why you keep doing stuff like this? Some kind of misplaced guilt?”

“I keep doing stuff like this because I miss seeing you happy.”

“I’m happy.”

“Julian.”

“...I’m not  _ un _ happy.”

“That isn’t the same as happy.”

Julian pauses. He raises one hand, his gaze fixed on the bubbles as they disintegrate on his skin.

“I’m working on it,” he says, finally, “I think it might take some time. But I’m working on it.”

“Can I help?”

“I think it’s something I need to do myself.”

Logan nods, “Is it okay that I’m here?”

“...yeah. It’s okay.”

They fall into silence. Julian sips at the smoothie every so often, but otherwise sinks quietly into the water, just his head and neck above the surface. The silvery scar at his throat glistens, and Logan’s fingers itch to brush over it. 

He doesn’t.

Instead, he busies his hands in other ways. 

Julian has a whole basket full of bath products. A perk of all the photoshoots, he always says, the free products coming in left and right. Logan selects a bottle of vanilla-scented shampoo. It should compliment the scent of the bubble bath.

He pours a generous amount into his palms, works it into a lather before pulling it through Julian’s damp hair. It’s been a while since his last haircut, and the curls twist around Logan’s fingers. He works in the shampoo methodically, runs his hands through Julian’s hair until the dark brown is obscured by white foam.

“Not to complain,” Julian says, and Logan pretends not to notice the hitch in his voice, “But I usually get some kind of notice before someone washes my hair for me.”

“Just making myself useful. Rinse.”

Julian slips beneath the surface obediently, and Logan dips his hands into the water, gently pushing his fingers into Julian’s hair as the shampoo washes away. The edges of his sleeve are wet, but he doesn’t quite mind.

When Julian emerges from the water, his curls stick wetly to his skin. He always looks younger, with untamed hair, and Logan can almost pretend he doesn’t know about all the pain in his life. There’s an odd look in his eyes, when he turns, a softness and a fondness Logan isn’t sure he deserves.

“I should let you get back to your bath,” he says, quietly, “Please try to sleep, after. Five hours a night still isn’t enough.”

“I’ll do my best,” Julian says, those eyes still laser-focused on Logan, and have they always looked so golden in the light?

Logan pushes himself off the floor before he can do anything foolish, pointedly looks away from the nearly bubble-less bath. He doesn’t meet Julian’s eyes again, makes a point of straightening the bath mat and shifting the shampoo bottle back into place.

“Logan?” Julian calls, before he can leave the room, “You do help. With the happiness. You...it helps.”

Logan can’t fight the smile, tries to school it into something a little more calm when he glances over his shoulder.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll keep doing it, then.”


End file.
